The bite between us

The bite between us

chapter 1

Zainab pov

The howl came too close to be wild.

I froze, breath caught in my throat, every muscle locking as if the sound had wrapped itself around my spine. The forest went quiet in that way it only does when something dangerous is listening back.

"Why does it feel like it’s calling my name?"

I swallowed, forcing my fingers to loosen even as my heart hammered against my ribs. Wolves didn’t sound like that. I had grown up hearing their cries from a distance—lonely, untamed, never personal. This one felt different. Intentional. As if it knew exactly where I was standing.

The air shifted.

I felt it before I heard it—the weight of eyes on my skin, the slow press of something unseen moving closer. Leaves crunched softly behind me, deliberate, unhurried. Whatever it was, it wasn’t chasing. It was confident I wouldn’t run.

I told myself not to turn around.

I did anyway.

The wolf stood at the edge of the trees, massive and still, its gaze locked onto mine like a promise I hadn’t agreed to make. Moonlight caught in its eyes, burning an unnatural green, and my chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to recognition.

Fear should have taken over.

Instead, something darker curled inside me—

something warm, familiar, and terrifying.

As if I had been waiting for it to come

The wolf didn’t move.

That was worse than if it had lunged.

Its stillness pressed against me, heavy and deliberate, like it was waiting for permission. I should have stepped back. I should have screamed. Instead, my feet stayed rooted to the ground, as if something inside me had already decided I belonged here.

Its gaze never left my face.

I felt exposed under it—seen in a way no one had ever looked at me before. Not like prey. Not like protection either. Like recognition. As if it had found something it had lost.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.

The wolf tilted its head, slow and almost curious. The gesture was wrong. Too human. A shiver ran down my spine, and with it came a quiet, dangerous thought.

What if it understands me?

The space between us shrank—not because it moved closer, but because I did. One step. Then another. Each one felt like a betrayal of instinct, of survival, of every warning I’d ever been taught. My heart pounded harder, not with fear alone now, but with something sharper. Want. Need. Hunger.

The wolf’s lips pulled back, revealing its teeth.

I should have stopped.

Instead, relief washed through me—twisted and undeniable. I didn’t want it gentle. I didn’t want it safe. I wanted it honest. Wanted the truth it carried in its jaws, even if it tore me apart.

“I know,” I breathed, not sure what I was agreeing to.

The air thickened between us, charged with something unspoken. A promise. A threat. A bond forming where there should have been none. I could feel it sinking into my chest, threading itself through my fear until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

When the wolf stepped forward at last, my body responded before my mind could protest.

I didn’t run.

I leaned in.

I don’t know how long we stood there.

Long enough for the fear to settle into something else. Long enough for my body to memorize the shape of him—the way his presence filled the space around me, the way my breathing began to match the slow rise and fall of his chest.

That was when the guilt crept in.

"You shouldn’t feel like this."

The thought came sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze. I clenched my hands at my sides, nails biting into my palms as if pain could anchor me back to myself. This was wrong. Every story I had ever been told ended badly. Wolves did not stand this close without blood. They did not watch you like you mattered.

And yet.

When I shifted my weight, just slightly, his ears flicked forward. Alert. Attentive. As if the smallest movement of mine was worth noticing. My chest tightened—not with fear this time, but with something painfully close to comfort.

I hated that.

I hated how seen I felt. How the silence between us felt full instead of empty. How the thought of stepping away made my stomach twist harder than the thought of staying.

“You’ll leave,” I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You’re supposed to.”

The wolf’s gaze softened.

That shouldn’t have been possible. Wolves didn’t soften. But something in his eyes shifted, dark and deep, and the loneliness there mirrored my own so closely it stole the air from my lungs.

A low sound rumbled from his chest—not a growl. Not a warning. Something closer to a response.

My throat burned.

I realized then how quiet my life had been before this moment. How small. How unnoticed. And the realization sickened me, because standing here—balanced on the edge of something dangerous—I felt more present than I had in years.

This is how it starts, I thought.

This is how you lose yourself.

Still, when he took another step closer, I didn’t move away.

I told myself I was staying to make sure he didn’t attack. Told myself I was in control. But my body leaned toward him like it already knew the truth.

That I wanted him to stay.

That if he left now, the emptiness he’d carve out of me would hurt worse than any bite ever could.

The wolf stopped an arm’s length away from me.

For a moment—just one—I thought he might close the distance. Thought this was the point of no return. My pulse roared in my ears, my body braced for something I couldn’t name but had already accepted.

Then he stepped back.

The movement was subtle, almost gentle, but it landed like a blow. The warmth of his presence receded, the space between us widening until the air felt thin again. I sucked in a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“No,” I said before I could stop myself.

The word slipped out bare and unguarded, heavy with more truth than I was ready to face. I hated the sound of it. Hated that it came so easily.

The wolf’s gaze lingered on me, dark and unreadable. Something passed through his eyes—regret, maybe. Or satisfaction. I couldn’t tell which frightened me more.

He turned away.

Panic flared sharp and sudden in my chest. “Wait,” I whispered, taking a step forward before sense could catch up. The forest seemed to lean in around us, holding its breath.

He paused at the tree line.

For a heartbeat, I thought he might look back. That he might give me something—an explanation, a warning, proof that I hadn’t imagined the connection burning in my veins.

He didn’t.

The wolf disappeared into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness until there was nothing left but silence and the echo of his absence.

I stood there long after he was gone.

The forest felt colder now. Louder. Empty in a way it hadn’t been before. My chest ached with a hollow I didn’t know how to fill, and the guilt settled deep in my bones—heavy, suffocating.

I told myself it was relief I felt.

But as I finally turned to leave, one thought followed me like a wound that wouldn’t close.

He left… and I miss him.